The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1703 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

It was good to be back home again, amongst my people, not the stuffed shirts and brown nosers I’d met at the palace. I’m sure that many of the attendees were nice people living good lives and doing good things, but I felt so uncomfortable being there and to meet up with a real prince and his wife–well, I was in overload.

I suppose his comments were intended to show that he considered I brought something new to wildlife films, perhaps I did, but being a sensitive soul, I find any reference to me as sexy or attractive as a female, tends to embarrass me. I suppose much of it is because there’s part of me which is cheating because I’m not exactly what it says on the tin; but then another part of me wants to protest that I’m as good as I can be and better than some–so just take the money and run.

Perhaps if I’d transitioned a little earlier I’d have a bit more confidence in my abilities to project as an attractive woman. I know that Julie manages to flirt much better than I do, and Trish, Livvie and Mima all do it with Simon, Tom and any other man who happens to cross their path. Me? I get all screwed up and blow it–ah, not the best choice of words perhaps...

“So tell us all about it?” asked Trish, well, more demanded.

“It was alright, loads of people milling about in posh frocks and suits pretending they do it every day, whereas it’s patently obvious they don’t.”

“Did you meet any real royals?”

“Yeah, a couple.”

“Did you meet the Queen?” asked Mima absolutely agog.

“No, Meems, as far as I know she wasn’t there. I had to make do with a Duke and a Duchess.”

“No fair,” claimed Trish, “they could have at least produced a royal for you to meet.”

“Which duke and duchess did you meet, Mummy?” asked Livvie who was looking far too clever for my liking.

“Um–can’t think.”

“Yes you can, Babes, it was Cambridge.” Simon. ever unhelpful when you really don’t need it.

“The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge?” gasped Livvie.

“Yeah, so?” answered a bored Trish.

“You know who they are?” Livvie certainly did.

“Who are they?” asked Mima.

“Prince William and Kate, that’s who.” Livvie had taken the initiative from Trish who sloped off to launch a missile attack on North Korea or something equally naughty.

“Pwince Wiwwiam, you meted, Pwince Wiwwiam?” Mima seemed slightly star struck.

“Yes.”

“What’s he like?” asked a drooling Livvie.

“Alright, he asked me about my films and then he moved on–they have oodles of people to meet and shake hands with, so they only have a moment to speak with you.”

“Wow, Pwince Wiwwiam,” Mima muttered to herself.

“What did he ask about your films?” Livvie was now in cross-examination mode.

“He said he’d seen the dormouse one and was I making any new ones?”

“Did you tell him about the harvest mouse?” How did Livvie know about that one? I presumed I’d mentioned it earlier.

“Yes, telling me he hoped I’d complete it?”

“Haven’t you got to start it first, Mummy?”

This kid knows too much–I’ll have to kill her.

“We have started it, Alan has looked at some sites and I’ve got some information from my survey records, so we are doing it, when I have time–it’s always about finding time–you lot keep me busy, you know.

“That’s right, blame it on us–you weren’t here most of today and we coped,” Livvie retorted and I heard Simon snigger.

“Well it so happened that Auntie Stella and Jacquie were able to stand in for me...”

“The nuns told us it was sinful to feel you’re irreplaceable–it means you’ve got too big an ego.”

“Oh is it? And do you know what an ego is?” I challenged.

“Iss a big bird, innit?” suggested Mima and Simon dropped the mug of tea he was drinking–in his lap, which had Stella wetting herself and Jacquie flapping about with a towel while he dropped his trousers.

“I think you might be confusing ego with eagle, Meems. An eagle is a large bird of prey, an ego is a term from psychology to mean the bit of our personality we identify as.” She looked blankly at me–I’ve done it again. “Never mind, Meems, just know we weren’t talking about birds.”

Livvie snorted and Simon was rushing about in his underpants and socks–not an edifying sight. Isn’t it bizarre that a young woman rushing about in her underwear is considered aesthetically pleasing, a man isn’t unless he’s built like an athlete, and unfortunately, Simon isn’t–unless we’re talking shot putter or hammer thrower.

“Wossa cycwogist?” asked Mima.

“A psychologist?” Here we go again.

“Someone who studies behaviour of people.”

“What if they misbehave?”

I knew it–maybe I should quit while I’m ahead?

“Behaviour is everything we do, Meems. It means more than behaving well or badly–those are forms of behaviour too.”

Livvie sniggered again, then adroitly changed the subject. “What was Kate wearing?”

“A very nice dress, she looked really good.”

“Who designed it?”

Duh? “I have no idea, I didn’t get a chance to ask her, but it was green with gold embroidery all over it.”

“Nice,” she observed, “Did she like your dress?”

“Actually she did, and said so.”

“I told Auntie Stella she would.”

This was a revelation to me. “When did you tell her that?”

“When you went off to the garden party, I said if Kate is there she’ll like Mummy’s dress.”

“Ah, a speculative comment.”

“She doesn’t wear glasses does she?”

“No speculative not spectacles.”

“What does that mean?”

Ah the initiative at last, watch me blow it–you’ve got a dirty mind, now concentrate. “Speculative means you were guessing about who might be there.”

“They said on the telly last week they were doing a garden party, we hoped it was your one.”

“Well it was, and they both seemed very nice, even nicer than they look on the telly.”

“I’m glad about that–oh well, better finish my homework then can we play on my Wii?”

I glanced at my watch, "Yes, okay, but only for half an hour.”

“C’mon, Meems,” with that the two of them left me to do their homework.

“The ego has landed,” said Simon chuckling as he returned clad in jeans and a pullover.

“Very funny, I don’t think.”